No. 45
The Elders in 1837 & The Finch Collection
Dear Stewart,
Your uncle barely provided the details for this episode in the life of his mother, but when I asked your mother about it, she said it was true: The day after Helen Finch was born, your grandmother was put on a regiment of bedrest, when she read books from the great Finch library.
When Helen Fowler Finch was born, in September 1837, your grandmother, Mary Ann Brother, rushed to the side of the infant's mother, Polly Metcalf Finch, which was her best friend.
Immediately upon word that the contractions were starting for her friend, Mary Ann felt a cramp in her own womb: her sixth child on the way, but not due for two months.
Despite the pinch, Mary Ann thought she might run to help Polly but had to slow down. She arrived at the back of the old tavern winded. She waddled into the abandoned kitchen, leaned on the counter, felt another tug in her gut, and reached for a chair. She reached for her apron and wiped her nose.
From upstairs she heard a screech, but she remained in her place because she also heard the voice of the neighborhood matriarch, Mrs. Metcalf, giving instructions.
Mary Ann leaned back in the chair and looked up at the cabinets and shelves attached near the ceiling. Her eyes landed on the pewter pitchers and relics from their childhood, those old days when the tavern had robust, thick-skinned pioneers, surveyors willing to sleep on the floor, early politicians refusing to share a room, plenty of day laborers ready to help, and bursts of venture at night that bent themselves into embellishments over the morning dishes.
She thought of her mother, Rebecca, and how she died after giving birth to her brother, Ira, Jr., This was when Mary Ann was about 14-year-old and Rebecca gave her death-bed insistence to Mary Ann that Ira not attend the common, public schools. For a few weeks after Rebecca died, Mary Ann and baby Ira stayed at the Metcalf tavern until their father was released from prison. Mrs. Metcalf showed Mary Ann then how to serve the customers, how to set up the pitchers, trays, and how to communicate to the Metcalfs in short exchange for supplies, meal prep, and utensil placement.
How satisfying Mary Ann felt now, to know that her brother was taught by Polly’s husband, Ralph Finch, in the Bath Classical School. That would have pleased Mother, she thought, how things fell into place. And things really did have their place now, too.
Mary Ann's mother liked the finer things, just like her own daughter, also named Rebecca, who had the same temperament. Mary Ann wondered: And how was I to know that the daughter I named after Mother was to have the same figure, style, and attachment, and also, the same type of servile fear, if mostly contained, of how the jug was more of a vase than a common pitcher, depending on the company. And who might determine if or how the table settings were accurately measured. The placement of the containers, trays, and silverware in the cabinets, or the elaborate woodwork of the trim on the cupboards…and how exhausting it was for those who said it didn't matter. Well, on this day, all these memories were at last interrupted by the sound of the newborn’s hysterics and tears of joy from Polly and the older women, who assured Polly that she did very well.
Mary Ann still did not climb the stairs. Instead, she picked up the many spoiled dishes and stacked them for washing. Soon, she found some pork, cut up potatoes, and prepared a meal for the nurses who were by divine order placed there before she was. She could only do so much, just as her own mother could only go so far before surrendering, naturally, to that pulling or pouring over from the other end, and how she could only go so far and wait for it to empty out and the cramp to pass.
—Miss Minnie
2025 Copyright Christine Friesel
